


#myweirdwaiter

by Rena



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, stiles is so ridiculous i can't even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1272433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rena/pseuds/Rena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is without a doubt the most ridiculous person Derek has ever met. He's also the worst waiter imaginable. Derek doesn't really understand how he got hired in the first place, or why he wants to kiss Stiles stupid, but after everything life has thrown at him, he's learnt to roll with the punches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#myweirdwaiter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [forthesakeofyourwolvelihood](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=forthesakeofyourwolvelihood).



****

Derek takes Cora to the cheapest, most rundown diner in his neighbourhood, because she deserves it. She's been bothering him about his love life for days now, while squatting on his couch and eating all his food. He doesn't care that she says he owes her a nice meal for making sure he didn't go out of his mind studying for his finals. He paid for his coffee himself, so it doesn't really count. Reminding him that he needs to eat and sleep and shower isn't really that much of an effort; that takes, like, five minutes every day. She doesn't deserve a three-star restaurant.

She doesn't, no matter how much of a stink-eye she's giving him right now.

"Really, Derek?" she asks derisively, eyeing the shabby exterior of _Coach's_ _Diner_ with disdain. "Really?"

"Yes, really."

"This dump looks like you get food poisoning just by _looking_ at the food."

She's....kinda right. From the outside, the diner looks dirty and run down, and honestly, like tetanus waiting to happen. The windows are half-covered in graffiti where they aren't splashed with plain old dirt, the sign looks like it's one strong gust of wind away from falling on someone's head and the people going in and out don't really look like the most respectable crowd. Well, half of them are probably just poor college students and mostly harmless, but not exactly the most respectable kind. Derek's never been inside, in fact, he's always given it a wide berth, but he doubts it's any better on the inside. Which is absolutely perfect, really.

Revenge is oh so sweet.

"Don't judge a book by its cover," he says and pushes the door open.

Cora takes one glance at the interior - chairs that look like they're gonna collapse, cut up upholstery in nearly every booth and tables that gleam with grease - and raises a very judgemental eyebrow.

 Derek ignores her, finds the cleanest table, because he might be mean but he's not crazy, and sits down. Cora slides in opposite of him, and keeps glaring at him until a waiter approaches their table.

Well. 'Approach' isn't the most fitting term, Derek thinks. He _skids_ , maybe because of the slippery floor, and only barely catches himself before barrelling into their table, arms flailing in an attempt to keep his balance. It looks oddly smooth, though, like it's not the first time he's done this.

"Welcome to _Coach's Diner_ ," he chirps. "I'm Stiles, how can I help you today?"

Cora sighs. "Coke, please."

Stiles looks at her with wide eyes from under ridiculously long eyelashes. "Sorry, I don't sell drugs, my dad's a sheriff," he says, completely straight-faced. "Just say no."

"I - " Cora stops, gapes. "Are you for real?" She turns to Derek. "Is he for real?"

Derek would answer, but he's sort of speechless. Until Stiles bursts out laughing, head thrown back and his arms clutching his belly, a whole body laugh that resounds through the diner, and then he's definitely, one hundred percent speechless.

He's never seen anyone laugh like that. Not even Laura, and she's arguably the person in his life who laughs the most. Mostly at him, and very mirthfully, which makes her sound like a hyena. Stiles though..he doesn't sound malicious. He just sounds happy. Happy and carefree and fuck, Derek might be staring a little. A lot. He wants to kiss that laugh right off these full lips.

"Sorry, dude," Stiles says, still cackling and wiping tears from his eyes. "Just...your faces. Every time."

Cora purses her lips, clearly displeased. "Glad you're enjoying yourself. I'll have one coca cola, please. He -" she points at Derek, "will just have some water like the giant freak he is."

Stiles nods, jots it down. "Anything else?"

"Do you have spaghetti?" Cora asks. "Not with meatballs, though. Some vegetarian sauce?"

"Sure," Stiles says easily. "If you like a rustic blend of tomatoes with a caramelised parsley garnish. Uh, the caramelised parsley will look a little like....uh, mould, but I swear it's not as bad as it sounds. Don't let it throw you off."

"Right," Cora says, and glares at Derek some more. "I told you we'd get food poisoning. If I get sick, you're paying the hospital bills."

Derek sighs and turns to Stiles. "What's good here? Any recommendations?"

Stiles snorts, and lifts his arm.

It takes Derek a moment to realise he's pointing at the restaurant across the street.

Derek's eyebrows shoot up. "I don't think that's what your employer would want you to say."

"True, though." Stiles shrugs. "Their burgers and curly fries are amazing."

" _Dude_ ," a smaller, tanned guy with floppy dark hair hisses behind him. "Stop telling people to go eat elsewhere, Finstock's gonna have your ass fired."

"Sorry, Scott. Sometimes my conscience just takes over." He squints at the other waiter. "How come this never happens to you? You're supposed to be the saint of the two of us."

"I need the money," Scott says, and then, to Derek: "The steaks aren't half bad. Just, uh, say you want it rare if you actually want it medium. They overcook them."

"Uh, thanks?" Derek says. "I'll have one of those, then."

"One rare steak and one spaghetti with vegetarian sauce," Stiles repeats dutifully, flashing him a wide smile. "Coming right up."

As soon as he has sashayed away from the table, Cora kicks Derek's shin under the table, _hard_. Derek winces, and tries not to grimace too much as he carefully removes his legs from Cora's reach. "You have _got_ to be kidding me, Derek!" she seethes. "What the fuck? Why are we not leaving this shithole right the fuck now and cross the street to an actual decent restaurant?"

Derek shrugs. "Because I like it here, and you said I could pick."

Cora snorts. "You like the _view_ , is what you wanna say," she corrects, jerking her head in Stiles' direction.

"I'm appalled by the insinuation," Derek replies immediately, although it's the truth. Stiles is exactly his type and he's not ashamed to admit it. He has a horrible sense of humour, apparently, but aside from that? A lean but toned body, big whiskey-coloured eyes, a mouth made for sin, artfully ruffled hair, pale skin covered in moles and hands that he wants all over his body?

"You look about ten seconds away from bending him over the next table," Cora comments, wrinkling her nose.

"Shut up. You're the one who wanted me to get a love life, or at least sex. Shouldn't you be ecstatic?"

"I don't think a possibly lay is worth the risk of death," Cora says, and then winces, because that hits a little close to home. "Sorry, I didn't mean -"

"It's fine," Derek cuts her off sharply, and thankfully, she does shut up then. Probably because Stiles is coming over with their drinks, and only minutes later, their meals, so they busy themselves eating. The steaks is, true to Scott's word, not bad. It's obviously not the best he's ever tasted, but it's cheap so it's not like he was expecting much. It's not overdone, and that's enough for Derek. The potatoes, however....

Derek takes one look at it, cuts off a tiny piece to taste it and yeah, it's totally bad. It's not only cold, it also tastes like it's approximately fifty years old. Forget Cora's parsley looking like mould, he's pretty sure his potato actually _is_ mouldy. He raises his hand and beckons Stiles to him.

"My potato is bad," he says, gesturing at his plate.

Stiles blinks at him, and Derek's already thinking he's going to ask him 'so what do you expect me to do about it?' when he bends to pick up the potato, gathers it in his hands and brings it up to his eye level so he can stare at it.

"Bad potato!" he says, like the potato is a fucking _dog_ , and then puts it down again. "Let me know if it gives you any more trouble," he says to Derek, and claps him on the shoulder.

Derek knows they're in California and people smoke a lot of weed here, and he's seen a lot of people who were high as a kite, but he's never seen anything like this. "How high are you right now?" he asks incredulously.

"He isn't, he's always that weird," Scott supplies helpfully from the off. "That's just his personality." Derek's starting to like Scott. He seems like a no-nonsense kind of guy.

Stiles clutches his hands over his heart. "That hurt me, Scott," he sniffs. "Right here."

"Sure it did, bro."

"I'm firing you as best friend."

"Stilinski!" Someone yells from the kitchen. "If you don't get your ass in gear, I'm going to fire you, permanently! Have your lovers' spat with McCall at home where you're not making me sick just watching you!"

"10-4, Coach!" Stiles hollers, and snags the plate from under Derek's nose. "I'll be right back."

"Well, I won't be," Cora says, pushing her plate away from her. "Seriously, Derek, this is disgusting, and I'm gonna go get some real food. You coming or what?"

Derek shakes his head.

"Is this about your crush on the waiter or you feeling bad about leaving without paying? Because let me tell you, we could. In this case, it would be totally justified if we didn't pay anything."

"It's not like you're paying anything anyway," Derek says defensively. "And I'm not leaving. I want my meat."

He realises just how ambiguous that sounds just as Cora smirks at him. "Crush on the waiter it is, then. Of course you were going to pick someone who's just as socially inept as you are." She gets up and picks up her bag from the ground. "I'm not gonna hold your hair back if you end up puking your guts out tonight. I'm just gonna say 'I told you so'." Before Derek can come up with a good reply, she sneaks her hand into his back pocket, pulls out his wallet and takes out a twenty dollar bill. "I'm taking this, and I'm keeping the change. Consider it reparations for what you put me through."

"If we're going to talk about emotional damage caused by family members and subsequent reparations, I don't think you're gonna come out on top."

"It's cute that you still believe that," Cora says, flicks her hair over her shoulder and stalks off. "Have a horrible afternoon."

Stiles returns not long after the door slams shut behind her. He stops, eyes boggling at the empty seat in front of Derek. "Hey, where did your girlfriend go?"

"Not my girlfriend," Derek says, taking a tentative bite of the new potato on his plate. This time, it's actually okay, thank God.

"Well, I'm not surprised she dumped your ass after you took her on a date to this place." He studies Derek intensely. "You don't seem too upset about her leaving. Did you plan this? Because if you did, dude, then props to you, imaginative plan, but you're still gonna be painted as the asshole."

"She's my _sister_ , you moron." Derek rolls his eyes.

"Oh," Stiles says. " _Oh_. So, no girlfriend?"

"No."

"Boyfriend?"

"No."

"Is that an 'I'm not interested in dudes' no?" Stiles asks. "Or an 'I don't have a boyfriend' no? Or just a plain 'no, Stiles, stop', no? Because I get that one quite a lot."

"It's an 'I'm single' no", Derek says, smiling a little despite himself.

"I was gonna burst into a rendition of _All By Myself_ when I thought she'd dumped you, you know," Stiles says thoughtfully. "I guess that still works, considering you're here alone and single?"

"No," Derek says automatically. "You're really weird," he adds a moment later.

"Sorry," Stiles says, looking contrite. "I should -"

"It's fine," Derek interrupts him. "I don't mind."

"Oh," Stiles says. "Oh. Okay. Do you...I'm just gonna..." He sits down in the seat Cora has abandoned. "Do you wanna finish that?" he asks, pointing at Cora's plate. When Derek shakes his head, he grins, and digs in. "Perfect, I'm _starving._ Coach would just throw it away, what a waste of perfectly good food," he says around a mouthful of noodles. It's kind of really gross, as well as strangely fascinating. Stiles wolves down the food in less than five minutes while Derek just sort of stares at him and questions his taste in men.

"Stilinski! What the hell are you doing?"

Stiles winces. "Oops. Um, Derek, right? I don't wanna, like, bother you, but could you maybe tip me in cash? Uh, now? Because I'm a hungry college student and I think I'm gonna get fired in, like, twenty minutes. I need to eat something this weekend."

"I could take care of that," Derek hears himself say. "If you let me take you out to dinner. Not here, though. Maybe the Thai place off Main Street?"

Stiles gapes. "And you accuse _me_ of being high?" he demands. "I - have you seen yourself? Have you seen me? I'm not even...no, nope, you know what? I'm gonna stop myself right here. I'm not talking you out of asking me on a date, I'm not crazy. Like, not completely."

"Good to know," Derek says drily.

"I'd kiss you right now to give you a little taste, make sure you actually follow through. I'm a really god kisser," Stiles promises. "But I'm not gonna lie, these spaghetti were actually disgusting I'm not gonna subject you to that. My mouth tastes like something died in it right now."

" _Stilinski_!"

"Coming, Coach!" Stiles yells. "Just, lemme..." He gets out his pen and scribbles his number on Derek's palm. "Call me, okay?"

"I will," Derek says, grinning now. "Gotta see if you're as good a kisser as you claim to be, right?"

"I'm gonna blow your mind, dude. Just you wait for it."


End file.
